


Sweetest Perfection

by Snapes_Godess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snapes_Godess/pseuds/Snapes_Godess
Summary: Unfulfilled, longing for something more, Hermione Granger puts herself on the auction block seeking instruction from an experienced lover.  For one night, the man who buys the contract has her at his will. She thought she was prepared. She thought that her research had readied her for anything the night might bring.  But she hadn't counted on Severus being the man to buy her contract.In one earth-shattering night he changed everything about what she thought she knew. What she thought she needed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 29
Kudos: 377





	Sweetest Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> it has been ages since I wrote Severus. I don't think I have written him since Alan Rickman passed away...It may be a little rough, but Im getting back into the swing of writing so forgive me!

Sweetest Perfection  
By: Snapes_Goddess

**Inspired by the song Sweetest Perfection by Depeche Mode  
*Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, all recognizable characters, locations etc. belong to WB and J.K. Rowling. No money is made from the sharing of this fic. I do not own the licensing or rights to the named song or lyrics. 

“Sweetest perfection  
An offer was made  
An assorted collection  
But I wouldn't trade”

“Are you sure that this is what you want to do?” Ginny’s voice, questioning her decision, was echoing in her head as Hermione made her way to the tall black door. She had played their last conversation over and over on her journey to Blackmoor Castle. It was only in this moment, when all that stood between her and fate was a tall black door, that she felt the cold fingers of doubt and fear begin to tickle at her mind.   
Earlier in the day:  
“I need you to keep a secret for me,” Hermione said softly as she packed a small bag sitting on her bed.  
“I always keep your secrets, you know that,” Ginny replied as she leaned back against the pillows. “Are you going somewhere?”  
“Yes, I am going away for the weekend.” Hermione continued packing her bag, not looking up from the task at hand.  
“And are you going to tell me WHERE you are going and with WHOM?” Ginny pressed.   
“I am going alone,” Hermione stopped packing and looked up, “I am going to Blackmoor Castle for the weekend. To the Master and Servant.”  
Though she had been expecting it, Hermione flinched when Ginny sat up and shrieked “You’re what!?”  
“I’m going to participate in an auction…of submissives, at the Master and Servant.” Hermione squared her shoulders and reached for her toiletry case, shoving it into the open bag with a bit more force than necessary. “I’ve done the research. I know what is expected of me, I have thought it through and this is what I want to do,” she said firmly.  
“But…but…. why?” Ginny asked. It was obvious that Ginny was struggling with the notion of Hermione—an almost militant feminist—as a submissive.   
“Because there is a need in me…something that I can’t explain, but it claws at me. I feel empty and unfulfilled…” Hermione wasn’t able to explain it to herself and if she didn’t understand it she couldn’t expect anyone else to.  
“You and Ron were together for years, didn’t you…you know…enjoy it?”   
“Don’t get me wrong, I loved your brother and our intimate relationship was nice…but there was always something missing.” How do you explain to someone that a lover could be too tender?  
“And you think bondage is the answer?” Ginny asked incredulously.  
“I don’t know…but my search has led me here. And I’m going to see it through.”  
“What if you get picked up by some ancient wizard with warts on his face and willy?” Ginny knew better than to argue with Hermione once she had her mind set on something. She tried very hard not to judge others, but this was something she was having a difficult time wrapping her head around!  
“During my screening I was able to set parameters on the types of wizard who could bid for my company. I’m not a fool, Ginny. I know what I am doing.”

Now that she was here, she wondered if she did, in fact, know what she was doing at all.   
The Master and Servant was a rather infamous organization within the wizarding world. It catered to a very specific crowd of people. They were known for being particularly discerning regarding their clientele. Members were vetted heavily, required to submit to regular medical and psychological screening, and the fees to belong were steep ensuring that only the wealthiest, healthiest and sanest of witches and wizards could participate.   
She HAD done her research. She knew, without a doubt, that this was the safest way for her to explore this side of herself, to see if this may be what was missing. The activities involved in being a submissive didn’t frighten her at all. She knew that a safe-word would be given and strictly adhered to should things cross her comfort line. She wasn’t a prude, so nudity and sexuality were not concerning for her.   
No, it wasn’t the play, the sex or even the risk that had her anxiety high.   
What if this wasn’t what she was missing? What if she would never be able to find satisfaction with a partner?  
“Miss?” Hermione was startled from her thoughts by the tall man wearing formal dress robes and a white mask over his eyes.  
“Yes, sorry…” she stammered as she shook her head. “What next?”  
“Your robe,” he said softly as he held out his hand. With a deep breath Hermione untied the sash and let the silk robe slide from her shoulders, leaving her clad in only a black satin pair of knickers that rode low across her hips.   
The man took her robe and hung it from a hook near the door then stepped forward to tie a black mask across her eyes.  
“I am going to escort you into the room,” he said as he took her hand and guided it through his arm to rest at his elbow. “Once inside you will stand on the rotating pedestal in the center of the room. The group of bidders curated to your specifications will be able to view and submit their bids. Once the auction is complete I will return to collect you.”  
With that quick explanation Hermione straightened her spine and lifted her chin, bolstering her courage as she allowed the man to guide her through the door. He led her to the pedestal in the center of the room, whispering an enchantment as he settled her in place that sent it slowly turning.   
Though she could not see or hear anything, she could feel the eyes on her as she stood there, bare breasted and vulnerable. This was the biggest risk she had ever taken. Nothing in her past, war included, was quite as dangerous as putting herself out there like this. While the mask may hide her identity during the auction, whatever dom purchased her for the weekend would figure out who she was rather quickly.   
Thank goodness for the non-disclosure agreements!   
It seemed that as quickly as she was led in, the man returned to lead her out. The auction was over, and it was time for her to be delivered to the victor.   
The Master and Servant spared no expense when it came to their members. From the auction platform she was taken directly to a spa where she was bathed, massaged, and groomed to perfection before she was escorted to the main tower and into a luxurious suite.   
Once more she was relieved of her robe, only this time she wore nothing to protect her modesty. No knickers, no mask.   
“You may kneel in the center of the room and wait for your Master” her escort commanded softly as he slipped from the room and closed the door behind him.   
Hermione took in her surroundings, her heart racing as she stared at the various restraints, toys and implements of the BDSM lifestyle that decorated the room. Some things she recognized, many she didn’t. They were in direct contrast to the blue and cream décor in the rest of the room: dark seduction versus quiet sophistication.   
“I see that you still struggle to follow directions.”  
She froze.   
That voice.  
It was unmistakable.  
“Professor?”  
“If you like,” the reply came. He was closer to her this time, just behind her. She started to turn around look at him, but he stopped her. “Kneel.”  
Hermione was torn, she wanted to turn to him, to see his face after all these years, but she chose to listen instead.   
Slowly she went to her knees. Palms up, head down.   
She waited, fighting the urge to look up as shiny black shoes and the hem of his robes came into her peripheral vision.   
“Your hair continues to defy all reason,” he said, his hand lifting one frizzy curl for inspection.  
“I’m sorry, Professor,” she replied. Her mind was racing as excitement, curiosity, fear, elation, and arousal all fought for dominance.   
“You cannot imagine my surprise at seeing you on the auction block,” he said softly as he dropped her hair. “You may look up.”  
She lifted her head slowly and stared up the man who had purchased her for the night. His face, so familiar, yet changed.   
His long black hair was now touched by silver and those deep black eyes that once seemed to bore into her soul were now framed by fine lines. His nose, still prominent and hooked slightly over that same, unsmiling mouth was somehow comforting. The fear she had felt initially was no more, replaced instead by a feeling of safety knowing that she was in his hands.   
He stood quietly and let her look her fill, knowing she was examining him, knowing that questions would soon follow.  
“Are you finished with your perusal?” He asked, one dark brow arched high. Hermione nodded, biting her tongue to keep from speaking out of turn. “Good, I suppose we should get the obvious out of the way. Surely you are wondering how I came to be at tonight’s auction?”   
Hermione said nothing, she again nodded as she watched him move away from her. He stood near a window, staring out into the darkness for a moment before he began to speak.   
“I found myself restless this week,” he began as he released the clasp of his robes and removed them, draping it over a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “It doesn’t happen often as I am not one for socialization.” He unbuttoned the snug cuffs of his jacket then reached for the clasps at his throat.   
“Something called me to the club this evening. I don’t visit often, but occasionally, when the mood strikes I find myself here looking for company. I don’t have the patience for courtship, partners here know what is expected without expectations of their own. Simple, efficient and mutually satisfying for all involved. Upon my arrival this evening I was notified of a special auction for a very select group of members of which I was included. My curiosity was peaked.” His jacket joined his robes and he began to unwind the length of white cotton that formed his cravat. “A novice was looking for a teacher to facilitate her entrance into the lifestyle. My curiosity grew when I saw the results of her screenings on the file: young, attractive, healthy, less than five sexual partners…rated complex, stubborn, difficult to manage. I of course recognized you the moment you stepped into the room. Your hair is a unique…characteristic that is difficult to miss. Immediately I agreed with the team’s assessment, knowing you as I do.”  
As Hermione watched he loosened the closures at his throat and his cuffs and began to roll the sleeves up to his elbows.   
“I found myself wondering just what brought you to this place. I listened as the others bid on you, not realizing that the Golden Girl of the Wizarding world was the prize, they simply sought a fresh new plaything without caring one whit for who you were. I found that my curiosity was strong enough that I outbid them all by several thousand galleons,” he said as he dragged a chair close to her and took a seat. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared into her eyes.  
“So, now I have you,” he said quietly. “Why are you here, Hermione?”  
“Isn’t it obvious?” she replied.  
“I’m afraid it’s not,” he said. “I look at you and I don’t see a woman longing to be restrained, or whipped, or abused. In fact, your very nature restrains you far more than any ties or cuffs might. I see a woman who needs to be freed. So again, I find myself wondering why you would place yourself in a submissive auction.”  
“I’m searching for something…I’ve done all the research, I know…”  
“Oh, I have no doubt that you have done all possible research and know the ins and outs of this world including its history, psychology, and physiology,” he chuckled as he sat back and crossed his legs.   
“Professor…are we going to…”  
“Fuck? Fornicate? Am I going to tie you up, spank you, torture you?” he offered. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “All of this…accoutrement that you see, it’s here for the game that many who frequent this establishment like to play. Personally, I prefer to entertain women in my own domicile, but your contract stated that you did not want to leave the premises of castle Blackmoor so here we are.”  
“I don’t understand. If you didn’t want to…dominate me then why did you purchase my contract?”  
“Why do you assume that a Master must use restraints and whips to dominate a submissive?” he asked.   
“You’ve never done this before, have you?”   
“No, Professor,” she responded honestly. If there was one thing she knew about Severus Snape, is that he could smell a lie a kilometer away.  
“You have always been a curious witch,” he said, more to himself than her. “I purchased your contract because I too am curious. And because something in me said that what you are looking for does not lie within these cabinets and drawers.”  
“And what is it you think I need?” she asked, licking her lips.   
“That remains to be seen,” he said. “Tell me about your first experiences with kissing and touching.”  
“Um…I guess it was Victor Krum. He kissed me by the Black Lake.”  
“How was it?”  
“Awkward. Too much tongue.”   
“And was there more? Be honest with me, don’t hold back.”   
“I let him touch my breasts and finger me in a garden shed near the forest,” she said, her face heating. She had never told anyone about that experience.   
“And how was that?”  
“He was kind of rough. He squeezed my breasts like a quaffle and jabbed at me with his fingers…it didn’t feel nice.”  
“Young men rarely have finesse when it comes to handling a young lady. Very few young women truly enjoy their first interludes,” he said, watching her. “Do you remember your first orgasm?”  
“Oh…I was in school. Masturbating in the bath,” she said, her face heating further. “Why are you asking these questions?”  
“If I am to help you figure out your needs then I must know what I am working with,” he answered. “Now, how did it feel?”  
“I was scared. I could feel that something was about to happen, but I didn’t know what. I was afraid to continue yet at the same time afraid to stop. Then it was just heat, hot and pulsing and overwhelming.”  
“Is that how you feel now? Afraid to continue yet afraid to stop?” he asked.  
“Yes.” She was slightly embarrassed and wanted to run. She really hadn’t considered that she might be purchased by someone that she knew. She respected Snape, tremendously, but had thought very little about him and his personal life. She didn’t see him as a sexual person. Obviously, she was wrong, and that had her own curiosity peaked. How did he end up here?  
“That’s good. Tell me about your first time. When did you lose your virginity?” he asked.   
“After the war. In a supply cupboard with Ron.”   
“A supply cupboard? Good lord,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And how long were you and Weasley lovers?”  
“Five years,” she said.   
“And have you had other lovers since?”  
“Only a couple.”  
“Were you satisfied? Did you reach orgasm?” he asked, still watching her face.  
“I did…but…” she stopped, her brow furrowing as she sought an explanation.   
“Go on,” he prompted.  
“But it wasn’t the same. When I am alone, my orgasms are good…sharp, intense…but during sex…I mean I enjoy them, but they are weaker somehow. I don’t understand it.”   
The frustration was evident in her tone and expression.   
“What was intercourse like with Weasley?”  
“Um..it was sweet. Very tender. He loved me, I loved him…it was loving,” she said with a nostalgic smile.   
“But it lacked passion? Intensity?” he queried.  
“I wanted him…I wanted it…”  
“Wanting it and being aroused are not equal to passion.” He watched her wriggle in place uncomfortably for a moment, then he slid forward so that he was perched on the end of the seat. “Stand up and come here.”   
“Professor?”  
“Yes, I know the literature no doubt told you that you should never have your head at a higher level than your master, but I think we have established that this is not a typical dynamic. Now, come here.”  
Hermione was very aware of her nudity as she stood and went to stand in front of the man who was once her professor.   
“Push your hair back, please.” Hermione pushed her long hair back off her shoulders, which bared her breasts completely. “Now, you appear to be a healthy young woman,” he said quietly as he looked her over. “You have clear skin,” he reached out and dragged his nails lightly across her stomach, “supple and soft.” He watched as her nipples peaked, hardening and jutting forward. Her skin prickled with goosebumps at his touch and he heard her breath catch. “You are responsive,” he said. “Do you like having your breasts fondled?”   
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.   
“How?”  
“Professor?”  
“Do you like them stroked softly? Do you like to have a tongue run over them? Do you like them squeezed? Pinched? Twisted? Pulled? Do you like to have them flicked with the tip of a lover’s tongue? Suckled? Bitten?” He watched her face with every offered possibility, looking for the answer.   
“I don’t really know,” she said softly.   
“I find it odd that a woman of your age and experience is so unsure of her sexuality. What made you think that this is what you were missing in your life?” Severus ran his fingernails lightly along the front of her thighs and watched her reactions carefully as they spoke.  
“I..uh…oh…um…” she was panting, distracted by the sensation of his touch. “I was in the library and…and I found a book.”  
“Of course you were…A book? What book?” he continued dragging his nails along her skin. She appeared to enjoy the light tickling sensation if her ragged breathing and swelling breasts were any indication.   
“A collection of tales…erotica,” her knees buckled slightly as his touch grazed the tender flesh at the back of her knees. “When I read it…It made me feel…oh, goodness…” His fingers were now tickling along the undercurve of her bottom.   
“So, you read a tale about bondage and it aroused you? And then what?” he asked, continuing to stroke her skin.  
“Then I began to do the research. I read everything I could find, watched some movies,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and her cheeks flushed. “I figured if reading and seeing it made me feel that way then perhaps this is what I needed, that this is what would make me feel satisfied.”

He withdrew his touch and sat back in his chair, watching as her shoulders fell in disappointment. She was wound tight, like a spring that was ready to snap at any moment.   
But she wouldn’t.   
Because the one thing Hermione Granger was unable to do was relinquish control. Ironic that it was the one thing she needed to do in order to find the release that she sought.   
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked nervously.  
“No, you did nothing wrong,” he said softly. “I’d like you to go stand in front of the window. Clasp your hands behind you with your feet shoulder width apart.”  
“But…Sir…someone might see!” she stammered, her face heating uncomfortably. The corner of his mouth twitched in what she thought might be amusement.   
“Again, you question my commands. You make a very poor submissive indeed,” he murmured. “No one can see you, Hermione. The windows are charmed so that you may look out, but anyone looking in sees nothing but a set of drapes.”  
“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered as she walked towards the window.  
“I want you to stand close to the glass, close enough that your nipples can feel the coolness of the glass but not quite touching,” he said, watching her from the chair.   
She got close to the window, a chill washing over her skin. She knew that it was all perception, she didn’t actually feel the cold windowpane against her nipples, yet they peaked and drew tight as if they had. She clasped her hands behind her back and set her feet shoulder width apart.   
And she waited.  
Severus sat and stared at her. He knew that her mind was racing, a million questions were turning round and round. What was he going to do? What did he think of her? Where would this night take her? Did he have the answer that she sought?  
Did he? He wondered to himself as he slowly rose from the chair and made his way towards her. He could see her back stiffen, almost feel her tremble as he neared. He stood behind her, easily looking over the top of her head and into the courtyard below.   
“Tell me what you see,” he said quietly.   
Hermione had been looking into the distance, trying to make out the hills against the night sky. She had completely ignored the garden below.   
She gasped at the scene unfolding. The private courtyard was surrounded by tall, dense, cypress trees. In the center was a deep, sunken fountain shooting water into the air. Throughout the garden were statues of naked men and women dancing, drinking, and playing instruments. Their alabaster skin was illuminated by torches, lanterns, candles and the bluish glow of a full moon.  
Mixed amongst the art were a variety of naked individuals. Some were playing a drunken, lewd game of Marco Polo in the fountain, while others cavorted on the largest pile of pillows that Hermione had ever seen.   
She saw men with their heads buried between the soft thighs of women spread out before them.  
She saw women kneeling in the grass, their mouths eagerly servicing the man or woman they were with.   
She saw couples, threesomes and more engaged in various acts of pleasure. In the open. Their passions and pleasure obvious.  
Moans of pleasure and shrieks of laughter blended into a song of arousal and completeness that caused a knot of envy to form low in her belly.  
“It’s an orgy,” she said tightly.   
“It’s a party,” he said softly. “Would you like to join them?”  
“No…no. I am not interested in multiple partners,” she said.  
“And if I desired it?” he asked.  
“It would be a boundary,” she said quietly. “A hard boundary.”  
“So, you do have some idea of what you want. What you will and will not do,” he said softly as he lowered his head to sniff her hair. She smelled sweet, slightly citrusy. “You are not a submissive, Hermione.”  
“What do you mean? How can you know that?” she stammered, feeling disappointed that this evening might not go the way she thought. That once more she would be left unfulfilled.  
“Because I know this life, Hermione. I have had subs, trained them, worked with them. I have seen women come and go in this world, I know what they look like. What they feel like. What they sound like,” he said as he brought his hands to her hips and pressed against her. “But more than that, I know you.”  
“I’m different…I’m grown now,” she asserted, furrowing her brow. “You don’t know me anymore.”  
“You want to believe that, but you are who you have always been,” he said softly as he dragged his fingertips up, lightly skimming the curve of her waist. “From the moment I met you, you were so firmly in control of yourself and of everything around you.”  
Hermione stiffened and he laughed quietly, his breath tickling her ear.   
“Don’t get defensive, I don’t mean it as an insult. On the contrary, while your friends were spiraling dangerously towards their own destruction you were there, the pillar of strength, control and common sense.” He felt her relax slightly and allowed his touch to become bolder, letting his fingers slide along the soft curve of her belly and upwards to trace the line of sensitive flesh beneath her breasts. “Your strength and control over your own emotions saved them, time and time again. It was needed. But Hermione, you don’t need it anymore.” 

He cupped her breasts in his hands and pressed himself fully against her. She gasped at the feel of his warm hands on her breasts and the solid press of his erection against her lower back.   
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said hoarsely as heat began to wash through her body. Her skin buzzed with anxiety and arousal.  
“Yes, you do. You hold on so tightly to control, you can’t function without it. You spend your days anxious and constantly trying to stay one step ahead of everything, to control the outcome of everything,” he said softly as his fingers traced over her nipples. “But you can’t. You have bought into this illusion that planning, researching, knowing is equal to control. But it’s all in your head. You can’t control everything, Hermione. You must let it go. If you want to know true release, true pleasure…you must let go. You must trust your partner to see to your needs. “  
“That’s why I’m here…”  
“You can’t force submission, Hermione.” He said firmly, his fingertips pinching slightly on the firm tips of her breasts.  
“It isn’t about doing as you are commanded; anyone can be taught to perform tricks.” As quickly as he stimulated her nipples he withdrew his touch, raking his nails lightly along her skin, skimming the curve of her waist. “It’s something you feel deep in your soul, something you are compelled to do. You don’t want to please your dom, you need to please your dom. Everything in you screams to please them or you will not feel complete.”

“But how can I possibly know…” she stammered, gasping when his fingertips traced just above the neatly trimmed patch of hair between her thighs.  
“You know,” he said softly. “Even now that beautiful mind of yours rebels against the basics of submission. You don’t want a man making decisions for you. You have the power to reach the pleasure you seek, Hermione. You just need the right partner and you need to trust your partner enough to let go.”  
“I still don’t understand,” she whimpered, feeling helpless and hopeless.  
“Do you trust me?” he asked softly.  
“Of course I do,” she responded firmly.   
“Do you trust that I would never hurt you, or carelessly put you into harm’s way?” he asked.  
“Absolutely.” There was no doubt in her mind when it came to him. She knew what sort of man he was.  
“Would you feel the same if someone like Fenrir Greyback had purchased your contract?” he asked. He felt her immediately tense up beneath his touch. “That’s what I thought.” He tugged gently on the soft curls at the apex of her thighs and smiled slightly when she wriggled against him. “If you had told Ronald that he wasn’t pleasing you, told him that you needed more, what would that have meant?”  
Hermione pulled her lip between her teeth and thought about his question, instantly feeling the emotional pain of her failed relationship.   
“I couldn’t do that to Ron, it would hurt him, break his heart to think that I didn’t enjoy being with him,” she said.  
“But you did not find your sexual encounters with him to be satisfactory, did you?”  
“No, but it doesn’t mean I have to hurt his feelings!” she argued.  
“And by keeping the knowledge to yourself, by not letting him know that he did not perform as desired, by stroking his ego undeservedly you maintain control. Over him. Over the situation. Over yourself.”   
“That’s not…no, you’re wrong.”   
“Here is a little secret, Hermione…most men are quite simple. We want to please. We are eager for praise and gluttons for pleasure. Most men—men of any worth at least—would fall to our knees in gratitude to have a woman give us a guided tour of what she likes and does not like. To give total access to all of the wonder that is a woman’s body. To truly know that woman and what it takes to make her burn. To make her quiver. To make her quim flow with the honey of her arousal. Nothing makes a man feel more like a man than having a woman come apart beneath his fingers, explode against his tongue and to feel her sheathe quiver around his cock.” As his fingers hovered over her thighs he could feel the heat between them rising. He knew that his words were affecting her, stirring her. Arousing her. “But first you have to trust…let go.”

“I don’t know how!” she cried, frustration and arousal creating a tense, nearly painful emotion inside her.   
“Let me show you,” he whispered just before he bit down on her earlobe.   
She felt the cold wash over her back as he stepped away from her.   
She wanted to turn around and face him, to see where he was and what he was doing but she fought the urge, she continued to stare out over the garden and the gratuitous hedonism that was transpiring below.   
She could hear movement behind her, the soft rustle of clothing, the sound of shoes hitting the floor.   
“You can turn around,” he said quietly.  
Hermione turned slowly from the window to find him settling into a plush chaise. He reclined slightly, his legs stretched out in front of him, and he held out his hand, palm up in invitation. His shirt was open and the tails untucked from his trousers. His shoes and socks were gone as well. He looked vulnerable, harmless. Two things she knew that he definitely was not.   
“Come, join me,” he said. She hesitated for just a second before she stepped towards him, reaching for the offered hand and allowing him to guide her onto the chaise until she was reclining against him, her back to his front, nestled between his legs.   
They were silent for several minutes. Only the sounds of their breathing filled the air. Gradually, Hermione began to relax, to melt into the warmth of his body surrounding her, the scent of him, the feel of his heart beating strong behind her.   
She stared down the length of the chaise and marveled at the sight of her pale, naked body lying between his legs cloaked in black wool. He had one leg bent, his wrist resting lightly on top, his fingers relaxed.   
She found herself looking at his bare foot. She didn’t have a fetish or anything like that, but it felt so oddly personal to be staring at his bare foot. Long and slim with high arches. He had long toes with neatly trimmed nails and just a light peppering of dark hair over the top.   
It was so strange to her, it wasn’t as if she had never seen a man’s feet before, so why were his so fascinating? And why was he just sitting there letting her lean against him? What was he waiting for?  
“Impatient?” he asked. She could hear the amusement—or at least what she assumed was amusement—in his voice. One never knew what Severus Snape was thinking and that made him dangerous…and as she sat naked between his legs she realized that it also made him sexy.   
“A bit,” she acknowledged. “I don’t know what to do.”  
“Why do you have to do anything?” he asked softly. He gently moved her hair to the side and then let his fingertips trace the line of her neck, felt her shiver beneath his touch. “Are you cold? I could get you a blanket.”  
“N-no, no sir, I’m not cold, just…nervous,” she said.   
“Nervous is okay,” he said, his lips close to her throat.   
She felt the heat of his breath wafting over her skin, the vibration of his words tickling the fine hairs at her nape before he pressed his lips to her skin. At the first touch of true intimacy she whimpered.   
“Hush now, I’ve got you,” he said as he peppered small kisses along the tender skin of her neck.  
The long, gentle fingers that had been trailing along her throat now caressed her collar bones with a feather light touch. She felt the heat blossom in her face, could feel the flush of arousal as it traveled through her. Felt the bloom of moisture between her thighs.   
How was this possible? He had done practically nothing to her, yet she was more than ready to receive him, eager even. But he seemed in no hurry to progress to that point, in no hurry to receive pleasure in return. Immediately she felt guilt settle into her gut and she tensed.   
“Stop thinking, Hermione, feel,” he said firmly as he flattened one hand against her chest and the other against her abdomen, holding her firmly against him.   
“But…but what about you?” she asked softly.  
“This isn’t about me,” he said quietly, relaxing his hold. “I know what I like,” he whispered as he cupped her breast, the tight nipple sliding between his fingers. “I like the feel of a woman’s soft skin beneath my rough fingertips. I like the way her breasts fill my hands, the way her nipples peak at my touch.”   
He cupped both breasts in his hands and toyed with the aching tips until she could think of nothing else but his touch, his voice, the words he spoke into her ear.  
“Nothing compares to the scent of a woman as her body softens and warms beneath my touch,” he continued. As one hand slid up to cup her chin and tilt her head up and to the side the other slid down over her ribs to the soft curve of her belly. “Nothing tastes as sweet as the lips of an aroused woman,” he said as he lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips against hers.   
She cried out and stretched her neck for more, for a deeper taste but he pulled back and clucked his tongue.  
“Now, now, Ms. Granger, let’s not be greedy,” he admonished gently. “You are trying to control what is happening here and that’s just not going to work.”   
“I just…I want you,” she said breathlessly. She ached for him, actually hurt with the want of him and that felt different, uncomfortable. Had she ever wanted a lover this way before? Was this what had really been missing from her life?  
“And I want you,” he acknowledged. “But I want all of you, not the part of you that others have had. I want your total surrender. I want your complete submission beneath my touch.”  
“What do I do?” she asked, the longing clear in her pleading tone.   
“Feel,” he whispered against her lips as the hand resting against her belly slid lower to cup her between her thighs. He could feel the swollen lips of her sex as they flowered open beneath his touch. Hot, slippery flesh greeting his fingertips as the lips parted in eager welcome. She gasped and her thighs fell open.   
“Be still,” he commanded when she wriggled her hips to gain more. “Don’t move or I’ll stop,” he threatened as he began to gently stroke the tight pearl of her clit. He stroked along the sides of the sensitive nubbin, never touching it directly.   
His teasing touch stroked her arousal higher, caused her body to grow hot, her skin becoming slippery with perspiration as she fought the desire to grab his arm and hold him against her, to rock her hips against his fingers until she came.   
It was taking everything in her to just lie there, to let him have complete access to her body, complete dominion over her body’s response. She braced her hands on his thighs, her nails digging into the fine wool of his trousers.   
She felt tight, like her spine might splinter as the tension built inside her.   
She wanted more.   
She wanted it harder.  
She wanted it more direct.  
She wanted it faster.  
She wanted to come. Was desperate for it.  
But he was in no hurry as he leisurely explored her sex. Stroking, tapping, circling, ignoring the pulsing center. Avoiding the trigger that would launch her to nirvana.  
His fingers dipped into the slippery well of her opening, lubricating his fingers to glide more smoothly along her swollen and aching flesh.   
“Does it feel good?” he asked.  
“I…I can’t…please!” Words were impossible to find as her body drew tighter. The muscles in her thighs began to burn and tremble, as if she were running a marathon. It was all too much and not enough. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t find the handhold needed to stop the spinning.   
“Let go,” he commanded. His fingers closed on the aching bud between her legs, gently strumming the tiny organ. “Let go, let me have all of you!” he said just before he nipped at her bottom lip.  
With her eyes closed tightly and her fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his trousers, Hermione felt it.   
The tension in her body gave way.  
Tiny white lights danced behind her closed lids.  
Heat, like a lava flow coursed through her veins.   
She felt as if her bones had snapped and splintered, as if the muscles holding her together had melted away.  
Everything centered between her thighs as her sex pulsed against his fingers where they continued to stroke her.  
Tears seeped from beneath her closed lids to run down her cheeks as she trembled against him.   
Her hoarse cries of release reverberated from the walls and faded into the soft whimpers of her heavy breathing as she fell boneless against him and her consciousness slowly slipped away.

~@~@~@~@~@~@~@  
Morning—  
Hermione stirred gently as the bright light of the sun penetrated the darkness of the room. With a tired yawn she stretched her body, wincing slightly at her aching muscles.   
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked around the room.   
She was still at Blackmoor.  
Alone.  
“Ah, Miss, you are awake!”   
Hermione quickly clutched the blankets to her chest and glanced across the room at a young woman dressed in a maid’s uniform.   
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the young woman said with a smile. “My name is Janet, I came to deliver your tray and to run your bath.”   
“My bath?” Hermione sat up as Janet brought a tray laden with a hearty breakfast and set it beside her on the bed.   
“Yes, Miss,” she said cheerily as she handed Hermione an envelope with a wax seal. “Master Snape instructed me to bring you breakfast and to give you this. He also instructed that you continue to enjoy the suite for as long as you like, especially the bath.” Janet’s cheeks flushed slightly as she stepped back from the bed. “I will get it started, enjoy your breakfast, Miss, and when you are done your bath will be ready.”

“Thank you, Janet,” Hermione said softly as she ran her finger over the ornate letters of the monogram embossed in the wax seal.   
Memories flooded back to her of the night before. The intensity of her orgasm had left her weak, barely able to form thought. She had opened her eyes to find herself being carried gently to the bed where he had tucked her beneath the sheets. He laid beside her and touched her everywhere. Leisurely exploring her body, his fingertips touching every inch of her from the top of her head to the ticklish skin between her toes.   
His reverence, the gentleness in his touch had astounded her. She didn’t understand it, he was a dom, right? Yet he wasn’t rough or forceful with her. He did not attempt to restrain her or to punish or train her. When he final laid his body over her and slipped inside her it was with such tenderness and gratitude that she nearly wept as he coaxed yet another intense orgasm from her.   
When his release came, he didn’t immediately withdraw and roll away from her. Instead he stayed within her as his member began to soften and rested his cheek against her chest. And he laid there for an eternity as she stroked his hair and drifted off to sleep.  
She could feel the ache between her thighs, the sticky residue of their night together. Her body hummed with genuine satisfaction and a renewed sense of her body. She felt alive, and somehow relieved knowing that her body was capable of finding such passion.   
As she looked around the empty room, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her at his absence. When had he left and how had she not noticed?   
She gently lifted the wax seal from the envelope and withdrew the folded page inside. A smile lifted her lips when she saw his familiar scrawl across the page.

Ms. Granger,  
Forgive my early departure. I hope that you found your evening satisfactory and perhaps enlightening.  
Please enjoy your breakfast, and a long bath to ease your aches. Should you wish to meet again, I would be  
More than happy to continue your tutelage. Watching, feeling, tasting your education was the sweetest perfection.  
Yours,  
S  
She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face at his words. He implied that he wanted to see her again.  
And as she folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope, Hermione felt the tingling begin low in her belly.  
She most certainly wanted to see him again.

(I am purposefully ending this with a vague implication that this may get a sequel. It didn’t begin that way, but as I finished it up my muse began sliding in to suggest that this “Education of Ms. Granger” was not finished.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Knights of Walpurgis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758343) by [MizzAdamz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzAdamz/pseuds/MizzAdamz)




End file.
